Child's Play
by SweetDevil97
Summary: AU-Trying to save a boy, Arthur is hit by a car and dies. He wakes up to find himself in limbo and given  two choices: change his ways and live or die and go to hell. So Arthur is given an "angel", but is Alfred really who he says he is? USUK


So somewhere along the way, this idea popped into my head and I nearly was over-loaded with plot bunnies. So I wrote it down and it turned out this way. A short chapter, but this is only a prologue right here, they will get longer over time as the plot start to rear out.

Disclaimer: All Hetalia characters belong to its respected owner.

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><p><em><strong>Child's Play<strong>_

_Prologue_

"Be sure to make this _never _happen again. Am I making myself clear with you, or do you need some sort of paper for this to be written down on so you can read over your idiotic mistakes?"

The girl whimpered and quickly shook her head to signal she under stood everything he was telling her. Without a single backwards glance, she ran out of the office to cry in the comfort of a hidden corner somewhere in the building.

A heavy sigh was heard as a door slammed shut. A hand ran through shoulder length blonde hair.

"Really Arthur," the French man said and pouted, looking awfully wrong with his angled face and stubble chin hinting already that he should not be doing that type of thing, "you just scared away yet another one of your models. Seriously, if I didn't know better, I would think you actually wanted this."

An impressively sized eyebrow was raised, but green eyes rolled, caring less if the girl was breaking down into tears as they spoke.

"Oh please Francis," Arthur Kirkland grounded out looking quite peeved. "She of all people should know better than to eat that bloody food that will make her blimp in a week's time." The short man crossed his arms and decided the conversation was over and dealt with. He got up from behind his desk and walked past Francis who was leaning against the wall. "And the last thing I need is you lecturing me on how I run this company, frog face."

Francis didn't show or feel any hurt from the nick name Arthur seemed to be calling him lately. He had grown far use to the poor treatment by now. So much for being the other man's 'best friend', as other people seemed to think they were. They were far from anything considered friends, more like rivals competing for the top.

Things hadn't been going well the past few months. Do to some 'incidents' involving Arthur and his rather poor treatment when it came to the women working for him, some of the women were either fired on harsh grounds, or quit do to such horrible fights over what they could and could not do.

In the end, they have lost nearly half of their star girls thanks to Arthur. Francis has been trying to get the buffoon to man up and apologize, maybe even hire back some if they still wanted to deal with him. But the prissy man kept his lips in a thin line and glared daggers at anyone who asked for him to do so.

So in short, Francis along with his fellow employees were not ready to carve their names on tombstone yet.

"Would it hurt to just apologize-" the door slammed shut once again before Francis could finish. He massaged his temples, already feeling a headache coming.

Arthur just about had enough of people trying to tell him what to do. Being strict with these girls was the only thing keeping them off of their asses and on top. He didn't need some French fool to tell him how to treat them.

He was more then irritated when he first began at the agency. The models were a complete mess and the laughing stock of the entire company. They needed someone who could whip them back into shape, and who better to do the job then he himself? As soon as he declared head of the department as his own, he fired those who were not doing their jobs and kept the ones who actually deserved them. He put restrictions on what the girls could and could not do: no staying up past ten, no junk food, no greasy products, and to always wash their faces correctly so as not to grow blackheads, blemishes, or disgustingly rugged pimples. And those were just a few to start off with.

Those who were strong proved themselves to him by following his instructions the first time given. Although some struggled, they got use to the ordeals and began to show their inner glimmer. He was proud and commended for his efforts at first, but then some of the girls grew tired of the healthy lifestyle and began to whine like infants. Arthur did not accept crybabies, so he got rid of them as well. Sure in the long process he had lost some of the best, but he did earn people who were actually willing to cooperate and not bitch twenty-four seven.

Walking down the hallway, Arthur decided he need to release some steam building up within him. Maybe the fresh early November chill could get the job done.

Arthur ran a hand through his messy blonde hair, taking in the cool air outside the work building. The streets were busy with people, even though rush hour was far over hours ago. But then again, what could you really expect from the city that never sleeps?

The sky was till a faded blue with tall buildings covering up wispy clouds and he wondered if back home in London if it was still much brighter, a more pleasing color to the eyes. He sort of missed it. At least back there it didn't smell like rotting meat from people who lost interest in their hot dogs and just tossed them onto the sidewalk without a care in the world. He could already feel his stomach turn and nose scrunch up in utter distaste. Was this what they called culture shock? Well, probably not. This could not compare to the freak outs his friend Kiku had said he'd gone through when he first came to America.

Something bumped into his leg and Arthur glanced behind him to tell off whoever had dared to crash into him so suddenly. He didn't see anyone, but when he looked down there was a small dark haired boy with bright blue eyes that reminded him of the sky back home in London.

The little boy's eyes widened for a second like a deer stopping in front of a pair of headlights. He seemed frightened, but shook it off and gave Arthur an apologetic smile that added color to the fade sidewalk of New York City.

"I'm sowwy," the boy said, having trouble with his letter 'r'. He had to be no older than five, but he was just so _tiny_. He didn't even reach the height to Arthur's knee from crying out loud. "I didn't mean to hit you sir…"

Arthur shook his head, trying to get his head out of the clouds and pay attention. "Err, no, it isn't your fault," he muttered embarrassingly. Though, clearly it was the boy's fault. But Arthur had an aching feeling that if the child started to cry, the world would fall apart.

A chiming giggle entered his ears as the boy grinned from ear to ear and ran off once again with a wave of his tiny hand. The strange article of glowing white clothing he was wearing swishing behind him. He failed to notice the busy street…

Arthur's eyes widened, seeing a truck speeding towards the boy.

At that moment he had to think quickly, either let the boy get hit and possibly killed from impact, or push him out of the way and get hit and suffer major injuries that he could at least handle with a much bigger and built body structure.

He chose the latter answer.

Without thinking twice, Arthur ran and pushed the blue eyed boy out of the way. The truck screeched, tires tearing against the asphalt harshly. He felt the metal of the front dig into his skin, breaking bones to cause damage that made him hiss in pain. He blinked once and his body was rolling over on the ground like a dead weight.

He could hear people screaming, someone yelling for someone to dial for an ambulance. Arthur felt himself lying down on the rough terrain of the street, broken shards of glass poking him and warm red liquid leaving his body and slowly pooling around him. He couldn't move his arms or any other part of his body.

His vision was beginning to blur and things were getting dark. His hand reached out, grasping for a small body that would have also take some type of hit from the truck. He hadn't been as fast as he had wanted to be. The poor kid was probably crying up a storm from being in so much pain, but he could hear nothing. Had he gone deaf? Had the kid possibly blacked out?

When Arthur looked up, there was no other body, just the scuffed up leather shoes of people gathering around him.

The boy was gone.

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><p>Please send me a review~ I'd love to know what you guys think of this and whether out not I should contiue with it, thank you~!<p> 


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